The Thirteenth Hour
by TammiTam
Summary: A coven of witches give the Winchesters a run for their money when they set their sights on Sam. Complete with Limp!Sam and Overprotective!Dean
1. Chapter 1

This was a fic challenge for BlueEyedDemonLiz over at CWESS

This was a fic challenge for BlueEyedDemonLiz over at CWESS (check us out on my profile!). One that, as always, has Limp!Sam and Overprotective!Dean. Liz, I hope I did the story justice!

The saddest realization came to me the other day. I don't own Sam and Dean, and I make no money writing stories in the world of Supernatural. However, Kripke, if you are hiring…

Set in Season 1, and rated T for some innuendos and Dean's Ka-Ka mouth.

xxx

"You really should take better care of your young." Anna smiled, raising her arm and pointing at the lake beyond him.

They were on a witch hunt, literally. In southern Louisiana in a little town that was so fucking humid, it made Florida look like a walk through one of those York Peppermint Patty commercials … complete with the cool breezing running through his hair. The truth of the matter was he was sweating like a stuck pig about to be put on the spit fire, and Dean hated to sweat almost as much as he hated to shiver.

It was times like this that he could see why Sammy had chosen California. Hot though always a cooling breeze … no humidity. And babes. Lots and lots of hot babes in scantily clad bikinis.

It had been six months since they left California, and while Sam's nightmares had come less and less the more time passed, Dean knew something still ate at his brother, still left a hole in his heart that, if you looked deep enough, you could see the shattered pieces in his eyes.

Dean, however, didn't push the issue; partly because Sam didn't want to talk about it, and partly because Dean was not a chick flick sort of guy. He was a charge in guns blazing sort of guy. He was Butch … Sammy was Sundance, and it was with his both barrels loaded attitude that had him facing Anna … just one of a suspected coven of thirteen witches that controlled this sleepy little town.

More like a hot fucking town if you asked him. So damn hot he swiped the sweat off his forehead as it trickled into a slowly arcing brow; which was accompanied by that Dean Winchester trademark smirk.

"I don't know what kind of hojo you've been smoking, lady, but I'm not buying your mumbo jumbo."

Anna's dark eyes glittered with amusement. Dean might later swear that they matched the inky black heart she no doubt had. One that was shriveled and small, much like the famed green monster that stole Christmas from Whoville. Dean doubted there was a Cindy Lou in this story to untaint the bitches heart, and doubted even Sam's puppy dog eyes could sway her from taking what did not belong to her.

Like the lives of Jake Carpenter and Ed Baxter.

The corners of her mouth twitched upward, leaving hardly a line on a face that belied her age; no doubt one of the perks to demon worshipping. Dark hair, nearly as black as those soulless eyes, fanned tanned shoulders as she looked at him with amused humor.

"Your brother is hardly mumbo jumbo, Dean. _Baby_ brother, is he not?"

That trademark smirk faded into something far darker and more dangerous than the witch's eyes, something far more sinister than the things that go bump in the night. This was Dean Winchester, and she had just crossed the line into dangerous, where demon and human alike did not survive. Where anyone that fucked with his family, with his brother … rarely lived to tell about it.

"Sam?"

He was supposed to be covering point. He was supposed to be covert while Dean formed a distraction. That was the plan anyway. Dean faced the wicked witch of the south head on while Sam scoped the surroundings, and hopefully found the area where they performed their rituals before the next one was to happen … in two days when the moon was full.

"Sammy?"

The gun that had been nestled in the back of his pants was pulled free in one swift motion, the muzzle aimed at her brow as it furrowed in amusement. Still he did not look in the direction she had pointed. He was not giving the bitch the satisfaction of seeing him sweat. Though it was a little late for that with this Louisiana heat.

"He can't answer you Dean."

But when no answer came again, not even a cricket of conscious chirping out to tell him to look after Sammy, Dean dared to break his gaze from the Bayou bitch to glance toward the lake. It was there, in the midday heat, that for just a split second, Dean swore he saw the long legs of his brother, as they skimmed atop the water, while he was being dragged across the lake.

Anyone else would have said it was a mirage, that it wasn't just improbable, that it was impossible -- after all, people don't just skim above water. But Dean dealt with the impossible every day. Impossible was getting to your brother's apartment just as his girlfriend bursts into flames on the ceiling and dragging him to safety. Impossible was smashing a mirror just before your brother's eyeballs turned to mush by the spirit haunting it. Impossible was being saved by a crazy bitch that was controlling a reaper.

Impossible was standing here with a gun to some bitches head, and yet she smiled. But that is exactly what Anna McCormack did.

"As I said, you _really _should take better care of him."

The click was unmistakable as Dean slid the safety off at the same time the hammer kicked back, sending a bullet into the chamber and making his weapon deadly indeed as his finger toyed with the trigger, just itching to put a bullet in her head. And while the click was hard to miss, the malignant intent of his smirk was even harder.

"I'd be more concerned about what I plan to do with you…"

The woman who sat fawned out on her deck chair sitting lakeside gave him a smile that, had he not just been witness to his brother vanishing across a lake, had this woman not killed twelve men in as many months, he might have fallen for; at least as far as one night trysts go. He, after all, had a job, and it did not include being shackled down with some woman who left badgering messages on his cell phone about picking up milk on his way home from his latest hunt … oh and by the way, Bonnie was coming over, so could he make sure Sam came along?

No thank you! Maybe in another life, but in this one Dean was out to save his little corner of the world from demons and other hellspawn. And that included taking this bitch out for snatching his brother from him.

"I'd be more afraid of what they'll do to Sam if I don't show up."

The gun moved in a point toward her, the threat obvious as he held his ground for three seconds … three seconds that they were in check mate before Dean lowered the gun and all but snarled at her.

"How do I know Sam's safe?"

One well sculptured brow arched slowly, as did one side of her mouth in a smirk.

"You don't. What you do have Dean, is two days."

"Two days?"

He dreaded her answer as the witch stood, her petite size nearly dwarfed by Dean's six foot one frame, but she hardly seemed intimidated, even with a gun still held in his hand.

"The full moon … and at midnight, it becomes the thirteenth hour … the witching hour."

"And Sam?"

She turned, but paused to grin over her shoulder at him.

"You're a smart man, you figure it out … Hunter."

xxx

It took six of them to carry him in.

Six burdened under the weight of him, and even then his feet dragged behind him as they led him through the abandoned prison that was their hunting grounds. Long deserted after a riot claimed the lives of three guards and 15 prisoners, the coven of witches claimed it for their own, the cells making it ideal for their purpose.

Not to mention it was tainted with the blood of rage. Filled with unsettled souls that begged to seek vengeance on a world that caged them away, left them to die at the hands of their unfeeling captors. It was the perfect breeding ground for satanic worship, and the perfect place to spill the blood of their sacrifice.

So with the shouldered weight of a rather large man, the six witches dragged him through the dusty expanse, leading him to the cell that would be his for two days. And it was with great care that they lowered their unconscious captive down, taking the time to arrange the padding of a mattress and blankets below him before his wrists were fastened to the shackles on the wall.

One blonde lowered down to a squat, a well-manicured hand reaching out to catch his chin, turning his lax face toward her, blue eyes studying the blood that was drying to the side of his head.

"Did you have to hit him so hard, Cindy?"

A brunette just over her shoulder smirked, and while the disdain was clear, so was her curiosity as she too lowered down beside her _sister_. Fingers reached out to touch the man that was to complete their circle. The thirteenth, he was, important in completing their offering to Sekhmet, in cusping the circle of destruction and blood to bring to life their salvation.

The pads of her fingertips brushed his young cheek, and then moved to trail along the blood that was drying on the side of his face. With a giddy grin that belonged on a girl of 16 and not one of 25 that had long ago lost her innocence, she brought bloodied fingertips to his lips to suckle the crimson stain clean of bronzed flesh.

"Mmmm…"

A giggle was heard behind her, but the dark haired beauty was too intent on their latest conquest to pay any attention to her sister. With her own seductive smile, she leaned in; lips stained with his blood nearly brushing his own before the sharp call behind her startled her back.

"Sarah!"

The brunette was quick to move back from the unconscious man, her head turning in the direction of the voice, dark eyes landing on those as pitch as night.

"I was just …"

"Overstepping your bounds."

She locked eyes with Anna but a moment before bowing her head and scrambling back to stand as the other five, which had helped carry the dead weight of a man that could have overpowered each and every one of them, moved out of the way as Anna entered with a hardened gaze on each one of them.

They all knew who ran this coven, and while Anna had been playing devil's advocate with the older one, they had played a game of cat and mouse with the younger. It hadn't been the easiest game since this all began; after all, he'd thought he was the cat. But, as the two by four smashed into the side of his head, he learned he might have whiskers and a tail, but he was definitely the prey.

The dark haired beauty looked to the felled man with interest and curiosity before she lowered down beside him. Reaching out, she took his chin and turned his face this way and that, the shift of her eyes roving that inky black gaze over his features.

"I was right, Sam Winchester … you are absolutely scrumptious."

xxx

They must have had the crappiest hotel ever out of their entire 22 years of staying in crappy hotels. Sam knew this because someone was jack hammering right outside of their window. It had to be the window, it was far too close to be outside of the door since Dean always took the bed closest to the door.

"Dean…."

The riveting sound of five pubescent boys banging on drums as loud as they could just to impress some girl that wasn't really looking anyway joined into that noxious hammering that was happening on the street, only adding to the discomfort in his head as an arm came up to try and cover his face against the invasion.

"Dean…"

His throat was scratchy; his tongue felt like he'd licked the bottom of someone's shoe and decided to go back for seconds. But what drew his attention more than the cat litter feel of his tongue, more than the raucous sound that made it feel like his brain spontaneously combusting would be a merciful death, even more than the lack of response from a brother that hadn't ignored him seriously since the Great Prank War of 1999. It was the clank that followed the movement of his arm, the heaviness that weighted down his wrist that had him opening eyes that balked at what little light there was, that had him lifting his head despite the screaming protests from within.

"Dean…?"

It took a moment. A moment for the realization that he wasn't in any hotel room to filter through the fog of his concussed brain. It was in that confusion, that 60 seconds of time before the graveness of his reality settled in, that had Sam blinking, trying to decipher what he was seeing. Hazels narrowed as he lifted his left hand, the clatter of the chain fastened to it unmistakable, and yet he was staring, as if in disbelief.

"Dean?!"

"Dean can't help you now."

The soft, feminine voice jerked his head up so fast, stars danced before his eyes, causing him to lower back down. The dragging clang of metal to stone elicited a groan from him as his hand came to rub at his temple to hopefully assuage the dull roar in his head.

"Careful, they hit you pretty hard."

"Who are you?"

He barely recognized the croak of his own voice, the scratchy sound that rumbled past lips that didn't exactly want to cooperate. But the raw feeling in his throat was the least of his worries. He was someplace he didn't recognize, chained to a fucking wall, with some sultry sounding woman giving him the eye.

Freud would have a heyday with this!

"Anything you want me to be, Sam."

His head lifted once more, the cacophony of wildly beating drums having settled to a dull ache; painful but bearable. Hazel eyes, despite the pain he was in, were clear enough to realize one thing … he was in some serious shit.

Unfortunately for Sam, he happened to be a Winchester, and while they tended to lay low in order to be one step ahead of the law, they also tended to be caustic when cornered. Sam, while the mildest of the three Winchester men, had his moments that would make Dean grin and his father shake his head in amusement. Though it was usually John that Sam more often than not butted heads with, perhaps because they were more alike than either cared to admit.

John Winchester would have been quite proud of his son that day when Sam pushed up to level a gaze that was full of that Winchester fire (that either pissed someone one off, or made them back up two quick steps) on the black haired witch that stood assessing him, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sneer that spoke nothing but vehemence.

"Fine … Anthropologist. Dig my ass out of here…"

Nearly black eyes glinted with amusement, the heels of her boots clicking in a soft echo against the concrete as she approached her captive; but Sam, while chained, hardly backed down from that stare that said he was some sort of prize to be won. Lowering in a squat just out of his reach, she tsk'd in such a condescending tone that if he were ever inclined to strike a woman, now would be the time.

But she really wasn't just a woman, was she? She was a witch, and while human, that made her less to Sam. Something almost huntable, even if he'd rather not think of putting a bullet in her.

With a grin that was nothing shy of malicious, she gave him a look that was far too patronizing to be the least bit enjoyable, even if she did look him over as if he were the next course to fill her carnal desires.

Ever since he was seven, and Dean had taken him to see Sleeping Beauty, Sam had seen Malificent in every witch that ever crossed their paths. And wouldn't Dean just snark out some snippet at Sam's shudder as the living, breathing movie come to life reached out to caress his face?

Only Sam had the feeling that once she put him to sleep, he was not waking up. Not even with a kiss. And damn Dean would just bust a gut at the image that brought to mind … Sam's _handsome prince_ coming to rescue him from the evil bitch who had him in chains.

"No need to be rude, Sam, we could have a smashing good time."

"Sorry … cold heartless bitches aren't my type."

The corners of her mouth tugged upward, the delight of his situation (Sam would almost swear that she was enjoying his blatant disdain) hardly hidden in eyes that, now that she was up close and personal, he swore had flecks of yellow, much like the demon that ruined the Winchester's lives.

"Tell me, Sammy, what is your type? Little blonde love dolls that remind you of mommy?"

The world came screeching to a crashing halt, slamming against the ceiling that had been so unkind to both his mother and his girlfriend. Hazels widened for the briefest of moments, the flicker of pain in them hard to mistake even after they were narrowing in nothing shy of fervent hate.

It should have been no secret how she came about the knowledge, after all, she was in cohorts with a demon … but to Sam Winchester, in that moment, all he knew was the raw pain all over again, as if, in that split second following those malicious words he had to watch Jessica Moore burst into flames all over again.

But the moment was over almost as soon as it began, and Sam, king of angst and brooding, did what all good Winchester's did and bottled it up for a later time, a moment that he could allow himself to cry. One second to himself that he could let out the hate, the fear, the pain in one poignant hurricane of sensation. But even that wouldn't be enough, would it? Sam had learned to cover his emotional tracks so well that even he wasn't sure what might burst forth if given the opportunity.

And with that moment come and gone, the black haired witch arched a brow – she had seen the turmoil that welled in hazel green eyes.

"I thought so…"

"Shut up…"

Her gaze danced at the prospect of riling this one. The elder, he'd been easy to bring to a boiling rage, all she had to do was add a dash of stolen brother and a pinch of death by sacrifice, but Sam … he was harder to draw that Winchester heat that she had heard so much about.

Sekhmet had been quite forthcoming about the secrets of the Winchester men when the two brothers had come to town on their little hunt. The older, he called to her, pulled at her darker desires like few men had before. But this one, her captive, there was something about him that made her crave far more than a sweaty romp between tangled sheets.

And while she couldn't say quite what that something was … the thought of tangled sheets around them, with nothing between them but the night and their own sweat had her leaning in with a purr vibrating past full lips.

It was a sound that would have had Dean nudging his shyer younger brother toward the she-devil.

Sam, however, stood his ground. Even as she leaned in within reach, her lips a scant inch from his own. So close he could smell the scent of her perfume – something spicy and exotic – and nearly taste the flavor of her toothpaste – mint with a touch of baking soda. The purr that rumbled from her throat, had Sam not felt total revulsion by the prospect, might have stirred forth a fire that hadn't erupted since Jess.

"Don't worry Sam, in two days, you'll be begging me."

xxx


	2. Chapter 2

This was a fic challenge for BlueEyedDemonLiz over at CWESS (check us out on my profile

This was a fic challenge for BlueEyedDemonLiz over at CWESS (check us out on my profile!). One that, as always, has Limp!Sam and Overprotective!Dean. Liz, I hope I did the story justice!

The saddest realization came to me the other day. I don't own Sam and Dean, and I make no money writing stories in the world of Supernatural. However, Kripke, if you are hiring…

Set in Season 1, and rated T for some innuendos and Dean's Ka-Ka mouth – or maybe that's _my _Ka-Ka mouth.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far. Especially to Liz, who not only gave the challenge to write this, but has been uber encouraging!

xxx

"Dad, I … they got Sammy…"

Six hours had past. Six fucking hours in which he'd scoped out the area that Sam had last been seen, drove around this dumpy little town, and questioned a few of the locals … all to come up with a big, fat zip. How in the hell someone Sam's size could just vanish was a matter all in itself (and don't forget his little Jesus bit across the lake!) but that bitch Anna had certainly given him a run for his money when it came to hunting down his own brother.

But Dean just wasn't a good loser, especially when so much was at stake.

"I know you told me to watch out for him…"

Currently Dean Winchester was wearing a path in the hotel carpet … from bed to bathroom to door to bed -- Dean could probably have recounted the steps between each without batting an eye, but he certainly would have grumbled out his answer. The laptop was sitting on the small table while Dean paced with his cell phone cradled to his ear, each step raising his Sammy anxiety to a level that should have had all warning's flashing while alarm bells blared in a roar that would be deafening at best, crippling at worst.

"But I need you; I need you to help me find my brother…"

Pausing in his well-worn path, Dean could almost see the disappointment on his father's face, could almost hear the disdain as John Winchester asked why he didn't watch out for his brother. It was in that moment that his chin tipped up and he got a stubborn set to his jaw; mostly at the lack of response from John as Dean rambled into his voicemail.

"Nevermind, I got this … I'll bring Sammy home."

The phone lowered with a bit of disappointment in a father that didn't appear to care. After all, he hadn't called back when he was dying either. But one thing was certain; Dean was determined not to let those witches sacrifice his brother. Sam was his, and no one, not even a group of beautiful (and deadly!) women were taking his kid brother from him.

The click of the phone was soon followed by the click of the keyboard as Dean took up residence where his geekboy brother should have been … on research duty.

xxx

"So you're telling me that all these men disappearing, all these men _dying _didn't strike a cord with you, Sheriff Lahey?"

It was hours later. Hours in which he'd sat before Sam's laptop going over each disappearance, each death, with a fine tooth comb. Hours in which he'd ignored the moon's rising, ignored the time as he tapped away at the keyboard, only stopping for a few hours when exhaustion finally took over and Dean passed out at the table. He awoke stiff necked and still tired (with the letter K imprinted on his cheek) as the sun greeted him, reminding him of just how precious time was.

One day. He had one more damn day.

"Well, this is a small town, Agent …"

"Smith, William Smith."

Sheriff Brent Lahey arched a brow, but to his credit said nothing to Dean posing as an FBI agent. Sammy would have gotten a kick out of this one; he could have even been Tommy Lee!

But Sam wasn't here, which was why he was in a face off with Louisiana's own version of Andy Griffith. And if there was one thing that Dean hated more than the law, it was the law from a po-dunk town that thought they could keep all of their 3,000 citizens in line by just a stern look and a, _"What would your father say if he was alive to see this?" _

Dean had news for ole Barney Fife … in the real world, your neighbor was just as likely to stand by while flames shot out of your baby brother's bedroom window as they were to go out and see if everyone was okay. In the real world, backwoods rednecks kidnapped good people and hunted them … for sport; and then ate them as if _that_ was normal. And in the real world, crazy demon worshipping bitches had his brother – not only had him, but dragged his 6'4" heavy ass across a lake, biblical style!

Dean was about to rectify that last part, and no backwoods excuse for a sheriff was going to stop him.

"As I was saying, Agent Smith, this is a small town, everyone knows everyone…"

"So then you know who the killer is?"

The good sheriff (and he used that term loosely, since the man was standing between him and Sam) sighed in exasperation as he pulled off his hat and swiped the sweat from his brow in this fucking Louisiana heat. Why couldn't Sam get kidnapped in Canada or something anyway?

"Agent Smith…"

"Bill."

"Okay, fine, _Bill_. We suspect it's someone passing through…"

"Who just happened to stay for 12 months?"

The sheriff arched a brow, and Dean smirked. He knew about all twelve men, he'd done his homework despite being down one geekboy research freak. But notwithstanding, he missed his brother … the same one who was a plethora of weird knowledge and would have been useful right about now. Dean suspected that not even ole Backwoods Barney would have been able to resist the ole one two punch of Sam's puppy dog eyes.

"Look, Bill, I…"

"No, you look, Brent … my partner is missing now, and if I'm not mistaken I have until tomorrow, in which case I _will_ find him … hacked up and bled out."

Dean's eyes narrowed in that deadly way that, while all Winchester men possessed the trait, Dean had definitely perfected it. The sheriff just shook his head; the hat he'd removed was stuffed back onto his balding head.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

He made a move to turn away, to leave Dean just standing there, basking in his own ire; making a stink of his own anger until the entire fucking town was blown away with a bullet from his own gun one by one, but Dean's hand was quicker than the sheriff's gait. He snatched his arm in a grip so tight; it was enough to make the lawman wince.

"Why are you afraid of them?"

Brent Lahey, the man Dean had sworn was as backwoods as they came, surprised him with words that he spat out in hushed tones, as if the very street they were standing on had ears.

"It's not them, boy … it's the devil they're playing with."

"Well, they have my brother, and I plan to get him back, devil or no…"

"Then God have pity on your soul."

xxx

Drip.

Sam had just come back from a hunt for the woman in white, but honestly, it was for dad. Though John Winchester, elusive as ever, had yet to be found. He'd snatched up one of the homemade chocolate chip cookies, took a big bite, and then settled down on the bed with a lazy grin on his face.

"He's adorable when he smiles like that." Drip.

He felt the first drop, splattering down like warm rain on his forehead, the smell of copper and sulphur filling his nostrils, begging him to open his eyes, but the cookie was warm and gooey, and the sound of Jess in the shower seemed to lull him … along with the promise of her coming out clad in nothing but a towel, so easy to remove as water glistened on honey toned flesh.

"I wonder what he's thinking…"

_Drip…drip._

Suddenly the drops of water drew his attention, his gaze opening to stare in horror as his beloved Jessica looked down at him in horror while the ceiling held her, even when she burst into flames.

"No, Jess!"

He bolted up, the horror of the dream (memory) making him forget, just for a split second, that he wasn't in Stanford; that Jessica had died months ago, and he was chained to a fucking wall by a coven of horny witches! Oh but the hands pushing him down certainly reminded him of that fact.

"Shhh, Sam, we've got you…"

As if that was fucking comforting with his wrists chained to a concrete wall.

As the clarity of the situation seeped into a brain that was still lost in early November, Sam jerked away before doing the unthinkable and trying to manhandle the closest demon-worshipping bitch away from him to get some breathing room.

But the walls closed in as hands pressed against him, pinning him to a mattress that did little to elude a feeling of warmth. It was a damn sorry excuse for comfort if you asked him. Too thin to bring about any warmth, too shallow to be anything like the reassuring calm that, despite how they had grown up, had always been there just the same in a brother that always did his best by Sam. Even when the Winchester best was pretty damn shitty compared to the rest of the world.

It that that lack of Dean that had a startled Winchester lashing out in a panic to escape, to find his brother and get the hell out of this piss-ant excuse of a town that seemed to look the other way as their own little version of The Witches of Eastwick marched right in and took over.

A foot lashed out, connecting with soft flesh before he felt weight bearing down, only causing his anxiety to grow to astronomical proportions. Hands clasped his face as weight centered on his chest and arms (later Sam might realize they were actually sitting _on _him) before the source of that drip found his mouth from a bottle one of the women held.

"Nuuu…."

His own voice came out coughed, sputtered on a choke of liquid that mostly dribbled past his lips and down his chin to soak the top of his shirt. As his mouth opened to try and breathe in much needed air, another round of cool liquid spilled past his lips, forcing him to either swallow or choke.

Sam did a little of both.

Gasping and wheezing for air, the warmth of the liquid as it coursed down his esophagus left a burn that had him trying to turn, to force himself to puke whatever he'd been forced to drink.

"Whu…."

Another cough wracked through him, though warm hands that had only moments ago bound him to the mattress soothed in caresses across his cheeks, down his arms, even on his chest and legs.

And despite the growing trepidation, the burn in the pit of his stomach that, had Sam been asleep, he would have sworn was a vision so damning that it would have made him physically ill.

Unfortunately for Sam, he was awake. This was not the future, this was here, this was now … he was about as fucked as any man could get and still be alive.

"What'd … you give me?"

The black haired witch leaned over, the smile making her full lips dance grotesquely across suddenly too pale features. Almost like the haphazardly drawn mouth of Pennywise. Sam always knew clowns were fucking deadly.

"Just a little something to make it all easier…"

The weight shifted and moved, and while his legs were technically free, Sam lay there blinking, as if whatever she said was trying to filter into a brain that had apparently gone out to lunch.

Smiling, the dark haired witch leaned over, her lips barely brushing over Sam's. He nearly responded as spots of light danced before his eyes. Nearly gave in to the leader of thirteen, but just as she leaned in for that deadly kiss, Sam blinked … the golden, blonde halo he'd seen moments ago darkening, causing a rattle beside him as a hand sluggishly lifted to push her away.

"Not … Jess…"

Far away, he heard a giggle, one that didn't make sense to his drugged brain as he tried rolling away from the woman, tried finding some solace in the mattress … to find the warmth that had been stolen from him in a burst of flames on the ceiling.

"Mmm … I can be anyone you want me to be, Sam."

Another sluggish push from their drugged captive and Anna smirked … his slurred words only deepening her look of satisfaction.

"Please … no … "

Leaning over, her lips grazed his ear, the whisper as tantalizing as it was deadly.

"Don't worry Sam, by the end of all of this; you'll be begging so good…"

xxx

Penelope Farley was your average, run of the mill girl next door. Not to say there wasn't anything spectacular about her, after all she did have the bluest eyes; so blue that if the light was hitting them just so, they gave the illusion of being brilliantly violet. She was short to the point of being petite, with strawberry curls that rolled in waves down her back.

But even so, there was nothing that differentiated her from the rest of the American girls her age that had hopes and dreams, and pinned them all on landing that one big break. Not necessarily fame or fortune (because who needed that?) but being noticed in the company she worked for (she was currently a waitress at The Starlight Diner on Fourth Street) or recognized by her professors (where she took two classes a week at the local community college) or even asked out by the most handsome (and lucrative) man in town (because who wanted to work at the crap end job she had anyway while she struggled just to pay her electric bill right before it was due to cut off.)

So while there was nothing that set Penny apart from the rest of this piss-ant town other than the coven of witches that took her into their fold, she had hopes and dreams that went far beyond tinkering with black magic.

Like the man she was currently charged with watching.

There was just something about Sam Winchester that drew her like a moth to a flame. Something that she couldn't quite pinpoint, but it was there, causing a slow burn into dreams that had been dashed aside for all of her twenty-one years.

Far too long to have your hopes squelched because life could be a real pisser sometimes.

But there he was, big and beautiful, and in those few times she'd been close enough to really pay attention, there was a light that literally shone from the man that they meant to do far worse than take his life.

They meant to take his soul.

Regardless of his fate (or maybe because of it) Penny was inexplicably drawn to the unconscious man before her. So while her eyes drank him in, the pads of her fingers toyed along his brow to brush dark strands from sweat soaked flesh. An amused look crossed her features as those violet-brushed eyes lowered to study his lips as if contemplating what they would feel like beneath her own; what they would taste like in that first moment of passion.

So caught up in her fantasizing, that Penny didn't notice his eyes open, didn't notice him stir until his hand swung up to catch around her throat and draw her near in a move she had little doubt could have snapped her neck had he put just an ounce more force into it.

"Where's my brother?"

So shocked, so caught off guard, that it took a moment for that deep voice to even filter into her brain; and a second longer to realize the predicament she was in.

So fast it had happened that she didn't even have a chance to squeak.

"I … please … don't hurt me."

The arm around her throat tightened for a split second, making Penny believe he either hadn't heard her … or didn't care. Just a split second that made her ponder her choices; in this coven, in him … just a second before the hold released and she was shoved hard enough away to let her know he meant business, but not quite hard enough for him to have actually hurt her other than her pride.

"Leave me alone."

He pushed back, his attempt at sitting, those dark strands falling back over his brow, shielding his eyes. But it was in that moment that she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had not been wrong. That Sam Winchester was everything she'd dreamed him to be.

If only she knew how to stop them.

xxx


	3. Chapter 3

This was a fic challenge for BlueEyedDemonLiz over at CWESS (check us out on my profile

This was a fic challenge for BlueEyedDemonLiz over at CWESS (check us out on my profile!). One that, as always, has Limp!Sam and Overprotective!Dean. Liz, I hope I did the story justice!

The saddest realization came to me the other day. I don't own Sam and Dean, and I make no money writing stories in the world of Supernatural. However, Kripke, if you are hiring…

Set in Season 1, and rated T for some innuendos and Dean's Ka-Ka mouth – or maybe that's _my _Ka-Ka mouth.

A big thanks to Liz; without her (and being my hero!) this would not have been written. And while she has given me suggestions, I played the sandbox after she went home, so any and all mistakes, are sadly my own.

xxx

Dean Winchester had learned long ago that life was not all wine and roses. That shit happened, and sometimes it knocked the damn wind out of you, and that sometimes the blow was so fucking hard it took a few minutes to even realize that you were no longer breathing – because that required too much effort, it hurt too fucking bad, and sometimes you just didn't give a rat's ass.

November 2, 1983 had done that to him, just as it had done the same thing to Sam 22 years later – like some bad seafood that you happened to puke back up over two decades after the fact.

And while Dean was fully aware that if he didn't solve this puzzle in time, all the wind in his sails would be blown away for years to come, he refused to allow a group of power-hungry bitches to just run off with his brother and hack him to pieces in the name of some fucked up demon looking to claw its way out of hell using his brother as a scratching post.

Not on his watch.

So while he was fully aware of how fucking cold and cruel life could be, how good people often got shit on because of things beyond their control, and that rarely did life cut anyone a break – those you made on your own, with blood, sweat, and tears; the last thing he expected was for the strawberry blonde to show up at his door.

With eight hours to go (way too fucking short if you asked him!) Dean had packed up all their weapons, their clothes, and every trace that he and Sam ever existed and piled it into the Impala – not to run from the witches or this town, but because Dean had done a little bit of his own research, and while there was a huge gap in the story, he knew one thing for certain … Sam was the thirteenth victim. Dean wasn't certain what in the hell they were sacrificing the other twelve men to (other than some fucked up hell's legion) thirteen always meant disaster, no matter which way you sliced it.

With one last check of the room that sadly lacked his geeky sidekick, Dean jerked the door open and damn near plowed into the girl that had been about to knock. One brow arched in that Dean Winchester trademark look, the same one that had his face etched in the memory of women across the country. Dean, however, wasn't here in this hotter than day old piss town to pick up women (beautiful eyes or not!), he was here to find his brother, stop a demon, and get the fuck out of dodge.

"Dean?"

The change was almost instantaneous, the wall of stone coming down around the eldest Winchester son so fast that it left one wondering if there was anything there before that cold, stony stare that Dean was casting at the girl, a look so full of venom that if looks could indeed kill, Penelope Farley would have fallen dead then and there.

"Who are you?"

"I know you're Dean because you have that same look in yours eyes…"

His internal alarm blared immediately, and the subtle change in his gaze, from dangerous to downright deadly, should have been warning enough, but the petite girl had only a split second before Dean's hand snaked out to snag her shirt.

Within the span of three seconds, Penny was grabbed, pulled inside, and pinned to the wall with a blade held to her throat – one that left little to the imagination. It was meant for one thing only – killing.

"Where is Sam?"

"I … he …"

"I want my brother, and I won't think twice about gutting you to get him. Now … where is Sam?"

Dean considered himself a pretty good judge of character – not quite as good as Sam (though Sam tended to be more trusting than he) but he had his moments. And while the strawberry blonde cast an illusion of innocence, Dean knew damn well that some people were just damn good liars.

"He's … safe … at least for now …"

The knife pressed deeper, just enough to let her know he meant business (and damn it if Sam's little whiney-assed voice of reason didn't try and butt in at that moment, Dean, however, told Sam to shut the hell up while he tried rescuing him!) as greens narrowed in a glare that left little doubt that Dean (Sam conscious be damned!) would take her out before he risked losing his brother.

"If I tell you, they'll kill me."

"If you don't tell me, I'll kill you … slow."

The girl slowly let out a breath, her lower lip nibbled for just a moment before the words she spoke came in such a whisper, that had he not been holding his breath as well, he might have missed them.

"He'd be better off dead than what Anna is planning…"

xxx

It was no surprise to Sam when he awoke to find eyes on him. These, however, were not the nearly black eyes of what he guessed to be the lead witch, nor were they the blue (or was that violet?) eyes of the girl who he'd contemplated (just for a split second) of breaking her neck. They were brown. Normal brown eyes that Sam, not for even a second, trusted.

The girl with equally brown hair nudged the plate over, though kept her distance (smart move), but when he didn't even look, she cleared her throat and motioned downward. Hazel green eyes flickered down for a moment to spy what they must have thought would be appealing on that plate (as if some homemade shit was going to make up for the fact that they wanted to sacrifice him!), and then back to her before the ever-defiant Winchester turned and rose up to his knees to get a look at the chains that held him to the wall.

"It's no use."

Sam just snorted; though that was the only indication he'd even heard her. Sam had, after all, been the cause of the Winchester Cold War of 1998 where Sam had uttered not a single word to either Dean or John for three weeks. Three whole weeks of silence that, for the first few days, left John in utter bliss. Dean, on the other hand, had found it a game, and had done everything in his power to get his baby brother to talk.

But Sam had refused. Oh he'd followed orders, did what his dad said, but never uttered a word to either father or brother. It had taken three weeks, John and Dean both going crazy, and Pastor Jim's influence to crack the youngest, so if this bitch thought she could get through to him, she had another thing coming.

"Did you hear me?"

Sam's head tipped up, but not toward the brunette behind him, he was too busy studying the chains and the ring that imbedded into the stone wall of his cell to care that she was even there. Ever the smart one, the one who liked to think out his problem rather than dive in head first, Sam studied before giving the chain a tug to the left.

"Excuse me, but I am talking to you!"

Wrinkling his brow to try and stave off the spots that danced in his vision (no doubt an after effect of the drugs they had given him), Sam studied the rock, and then gave a hard yank of the chain toward the right.

"Are you some kind of idiot?"

Perhaps she didn't realize that he was ignoring her (which would make her, in fact, the idiot here) but that was not Sam's concern. What was his concern was getting out of this piss smelling hole (which reminded him, he had to fucking go!), find Dean, burn an altar (because there had to be an altar somewhere in all of this shit), and get the hell out of here before something else even crappier could happen.

Hey, they were Winchester's, there was always something crappier just around the corner.

"Listen you ungrateful shit, I expect an answer when I am talking to you!"

Sam could hear her approach, and maybe he should have given her more thought than the effort it took to ignore her (which wasn't much, all things considered), he probably would have given her more consideration had he not been so hell-bent on ignoring her for nothing more than to piss her off.

If the slap she delivered was any indication, Sam succeeded.

The blow came quick and fast, and while he wasn't expecting it, Sam wasn't totally helpless. Sure, he was tied to a damn wall, held by some crazy wanna-be demon worshippers, but he wasn't down and out for the count – he could move, just not far. So when the slap came (the sound echoing throughout the cell he was held in and beyond), Sam's hand came up, not to deliver his own blow, but to catch her hand before she could give his other cheek a matching look that was so out of fashion even the second hands stores would have turned it down.

"You better let go of me if you know what's good for you."

Hate flashed in her eyes, and while Sam had little doubt she meant exactly what she said (because why else was he here if not to kill him?) but what else did he have to lose? There wasn't much more that they could threaten him with besides sacrificing him on a full moon to some fucked up demon.

So, being the stubborn Winchester that he was, Sam held her wrist, the grip strong enough to let her know that she wasn't getting away, but not enough to break it … though he could; there was little doubt of that.

"Get _OFF_!"

Her free hand came up, the slaps she delivered accompanied by her yells for freedom, his death, and something about making him beg on his knees.

Oh if she only knew how stubborn Sam could be! He had been the sole reason John had stopped for Ice Cream on his way to a hunt back in the winter of 1990, in the middle of a snow storm no less. Sam's '_Are we there yet?' _had all but driven John to insanity until he had finally relented and stopped at the closest Baskin Robbins. Even Dean had been amused by Sam's antics … and the double scoop of mint chocolate chip with hot fudge smathered on top didn't hurt either.

Her third smack had him turn his head, and just as a fourth was being laid across his cheek, Sam was actually trying to push her away to try and get away from that wildly beating hand. Between her yells and the fifth slap that hit his face, Sam missed the footfalls, he missed the shouts until another set of hands were attacking, then a third. Somehow that small incident of rebellion all ended with a jolt of pain hitting somewhere near his thigh … and Sam dropped to the ground like his legs were made of Jell-O, the electricity rippling across his muscles, making them twitch as the brunette was dragged down atop him.

He never saw Anna with her taser. He wouldn't even remember the kick that the brunette delivered as his whole body twitched and Sam curled in on himself.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"He was……………."

The words faded away into that inky blackness where demons did not exist. If only he could join them instead of feeling like everything from the waist down had melted into a pool of his own drool. But Sam, despite the after shocks that kept him incapacitated, wasn't so lucky. He was, after all, a Winchester. And their luck ran out a long time ago.

xxx


	4. Chapter 4

This was a fic challenge for BlueEyedDemonLiz over at CWESS (check us out on my profile

This was a fic challenge for BlueEyedDemonLiz over at CWESS (check us out on my profile!). One that, as always, has Limp!Sam and Overprotective!Dean. Liz, I hope I did the story justice!

The saddest realization came to me the other day. I don't own Sam and Dean, and I make no money writing stories in the world of Supernatural. However, Kripke, if you are hiring…

Set in Season 1, and rated T for some innuendos and Dean's Ka-Ka mouth – or maybe that's _my _Ka-Ka mouth.

xxx

With eight hours to find Sam, bust up a coven, and get the fuck out of this hotter than day old piss town, one might think Dean's luck was looking up, what with one of the coven members held at knifepoint in his motel room. But Dean was a Winchester, and he knew that Winchester luck never lasted long enough to toss the spilled salt over your shoulder before something else fucked up came along to suck the wind right out of you. So as those damning words came out of the witch's mouth, Dean gave his trademark look, complete with arched brow and all.

"What do you mean; he'd be better off dead?"

The girl stared for a moment, making Dean's already nasty temper rise just a notch, and judging by the look on his face, he was about to start slicing and dicing if he didn't get some answers. She kept her silence, her bottom lip tugged between pearly white teeth in contemplation, but with a rise of the elder Winchester's lip in a snarl, and the press of the blade, she caved.

"Alright, alright! Just … I want to help Sam, I just …"

"Just … ?"

Dean's tone was lethal. And while, somewhere, in the deeper part of his subconscious, he could hear Sam telling him not to hurt her, Dean pushed all humane thoughts away. This was to rescue Sam, and if he had to kill someone to do it, well, then it was a sacrifice Dean was willing to make. He'd make his atonement to Sam later, once they were well on the road, away from this crack-pot town.

"Anna doesn't plan on killing him … not really…"

And again that look, the one that said to start talking or lose the ability to – after all, it was hard to talk when you're choking on your own blood. He was about ten hours past playing nice, so his patience was thin, his temper was short, and she had about three seconds to spill it or so help him he'd cut her just to prove a point.

"What … is she planning?"

"The demon she sacrificed the others to, he needed their deaths to grow strong, now he needs a body. A thirteenth victim to take over…"

"So you're saying Sam…"

"…As you know him will be dead. What's left of him, if there is anything left, will wish that Anna had killed him."

xxx

"Sshhh…"

Every muscle in his body felt like mush, like he'd been put into a blender and frapped, then poured into some Sam mold that wasn't quite right. But that wasn't even the worst part of waking.

"_Hold his arm, Rebecca."_

The worst part was that even his head had gone Benedict Arnold, because what little thoughts that filtered in wouldn't congeal into anything concrete. They danced and flitted around as if Sam had nothing better to do than to lie here and ponder consciousness. But even while he couldn't _think _of what it was he had better to do, he _knew_ damn well it was something. He was a Winchester, and Winchester's always had something better to do.

"_This will only hurt for a second."_

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could feel a nudge that could only mean he was in trouble, and Dean was trying to get him to remember. Unfortunately his head wasn't listening, and Sam was trying to curl back up in that dark, safe place where demon hunting only existed in fucked up journals by nut jobs that would look damn good in a backward white coat … complete with their arms tied and all.

The blackness nearly took him before he felt the sting in his arm, a prick of flesh that was nothing more than an annoyance that he tried to swat away, but the burn that followed triggered an internal alarm that had hazels darting open in a wild shift of his eyes from one face to the other before each filtered into a blurry semblance of focus.

"Nooo…"

Anna pulled back with a smile, the needle she held passed off to one of the other witches, the motion of her mouth moving in and out of focus as words spoken didn't match, like watching on old Godzilla movie.

"Wha…"

His own words slurred, his vision blurring as he tried pushing away though he had no where to go. The chains rattled as a hand flailed without the coordination of the hunter that he was, it flopping like a fish out of water … or a man just shot up full of drugs.

"_Toooo make eveerythhinnnnggg eassieeeeeeerrrr."_

His mind screamed for the only person he knew that would come save him. The only person who had been there, every step of his life – even during those times Sam himself would have rather been elsewhere.

"Deeee……"

"It'lll alllll be overrrrr soon, Saaaammmmm…"

xxx

"I swear to God, if you're lying to me…"

The Impala sped down one of the back county roads that the witch (Penny. She said her name was Penny) said led to an abandoned prison -- what had once housed this corner of the world's most villainous criminals. Bet this little coven had never met up with a vengeful spirit. They'd have probably pissed their big girl panties at spotting their first wendigo, and Dean wasn't even going to discuss that poltergeist he and dad had hunted the first summer after Sammy left for Stanford.

"I'm not lying! I don't want them to hurt him anymore than you do."

The girl rode shotgun in Sam's spot in the Impala, a place that felt empty, even if it was occupied. A gun was held between them, the muzzle poised on the witch; Dean's way of telling her that he meant business. His conscience (his Sam) wasn't here at the moment, and Dean had always been a shoot first, ask questions later sort of guy.

"What's in it for you?"

Her lower lip was drawn between her teeth, the indecision clear even from his out of the corner of his eye view. Her silence lasted so long that Dean was beginning to think she wasn't going to answer at all, but just when he was ready to press the issue, her whisper came so low, that it took him a minute to comprehend.

"Nothing. Sam's just … different."

He took his eyes off the road for a minute, a hazel green gaze taking her in before he was arching a brow.

"Different…?"

"Yeah, he's … he's unique…"

His groan was instantaneous, coming almost immediately as realization set in.

"Oh you're kidding right? He got to you!"

"He what?"

"Got to you. Big, sad puppy dog eyes. Don't worry lady, you aren't the first person to take one look at my brother and …"

"LOOK OUT!"

Dean turned back just in time to see two police cars pulling in his path to block the road. His reaction immediate as he gripped the steering wheel and hit the brake with both feet. The wheels of the Impala screeched as the car skidded to a halt, its rear end fishtailing in the action before pausing just inches from plowing into black and white number 1.

xxx

The ticking of the clock on the wall was so damn loud, each second was like a Led Zeppelin concert in Central Park; it reverberated loud in his ears while he tried not looking at the damn thing. Like one of those faucet drips when the rest of the house is quiet … and all you can hear is the slow but steady drip well past two am … with Dean's luck right about four would be when insanity set in, with the alarm set to go off at five.

As it were, each minute signaled Sam's doom while he was detained in this fucking yahoo jail by Andy Griffith and Barney Fife. Unfortunately for him Barney's gun was loaded, and Dean was locked in a questioning room with nothing but a fucking table and Sheriff Lahey sitting across from him, looking smug.

"You can't hold me without charges."

Dean had tangled with the law enough to know his rights, and while he didn't want to press the issue, he had just shy of three hours to go before they turned Sam into some Demon Emperor, leaving him the job of hunting him, less he allow some stranger to shoot his brother like a dog. And there was no way that Dean Winchester was allowing that.

Ever since Sam had been placed into his arms when he was six months old, it had been Dean's job to take care of him, so he wasn't about to let that change now, not because of some backwoods bumpkin sheriff and his fear of a coven of witches that were about to learn what real terror truly was.

"I can hold you for 24 hours."

There was a smug look on the bastards face as Dean cut a glance to the clock, then back to him, the façade of bravery he wore in that sneer hid the fear he had for his little brother.

"So make yourself comfortable…"

Dean arched a brow and just stared as the man rose and made his way to the door, pausing just as he was leaving.

"I wish we'd met under different circumstances…"

Dean, being a true Winchester, didn't even give him the satisfaction of a comment; he just gave him the glare of death, one that he'd picked up from his kid brother during his teenage years when he and their dad used to fight like World War III was going on in the Winchester household.

xxx

It was another hour before the door opened again, but that was only after the lights went out. The door burst open as a panicked Barney rushed in to check the prisoner … and was met with the brute force of Dean Winchester's fist.

xxx


	5. Chapter 5

This was a fic challenge for BlueEyedDemonLiz over at CWESS (check us out on my profile!). One that, as always, has Limp!Sam and Overprotective!Dean. Liz, I hope I did the story justice!

The saddest realization came to me the other day. I don't own Sam and Dean, and I make no money writing stories in the world of Supernatural. However, Kripke, if you are hiring…

Set in Season 1, and rated T for some innuendos and Dean's Ka-Ka mouth – or maybe that's _my _Ka-Ka mouth.

I'm so sorry the last installment took so long, the hubby got a new job, and is currently in another state, so with so much to do to get him ready to go, writing was put on the back burner.

xxx

The weight on his wrists lifted, but Sam was too busy trying to stop his head from spinning to notice he was no longer bound to the wall. A tug at his hand had him turning his head in that lackadaisical manner that usually signified a drunk or a drug addict. And while Sam was definitely high, it wasn't of his own doing.

"Sssick…"

His other arm was grabbed, the dual force pulling him upward, making the world tilt off its axis and his head spin as color danced before his eyes. His stomach quivered with the effort of trying to make his head stop its roller coaster ride up that rickety track before you just knew the bottom was going to drop out.

"Shhhh, you're okay, Sam…"

Another tug and his world shifted, his weight unbalanced, and coltish legs were forced under him as hands pressed at his back, his chest; and Sam just shook his head in denial as he was forced to his feet.

"Nuuu Dean, mmm'ssick…"

"_Come on Sam, it'll all be over soon."_

He lilted to the left, hands catching and pressing, forcing him back upright as pushes and prods got his legs moving, though he only made it two steps before he leaned right … and emptied whatever had been in his stomach. The shrieks of the girl he'd vomited on went past deaf ears as he tried to expel whatever had been left, though ended up dry heaving before trying to sink to his knees.

"_Just shut up and help me get him moving again!"_

"_But he puked on me!"_

Had Sam been coherent he definitely would have laughed as miss slap happy stood there, his vomit clinging to her pants and shoes. But as it were, he was being jerked back up, his legs forced to stumble forward. Later, when Dean was here, he'd tell him that he showed her by _puking _all over her. That one thought alone had him pausing as twelve women tried urging him forward. They tugged, he stumbled a step, and stopped in true Winchester stubbornness … true _Sam _stubbornness.

"Where'ssss Dean?"

His own mouth betrayed him in that slur, but now was not the time to worry about getting it under control. His brother was missing, and for all he knew the coven of witches hurt him!

"_He's waiting for you, Sam…"_

It took a moment to focus, a moment to turn to the correct voice (Anna's) and smirk.

"You lying bitch…"

That, while slightly muffled with his mouth going mutiny, was definitely coherent enough for Anna to frown, then glare as she reached up to curl her fingers around the back of his head, and despite the fact he had just thrown up, she tugged him down to her until their lips nearly met.

"Perhaps, but soon I'll be _your _lying bitch."

Despite his drugged state, despite the fact that Sam felt like a poltergeist had tossed him around for a game of human catch … Sam smirked and wavered out of her fingers. The hands that seemed to be everywhere (including a few places Sam would later deny!) pushed him forward. And even as he stumbled, he chuckled, that Winchester stubbornness shining through like a beacon in the darkness.

"I don't think so…"

Anna frowned, the glare she sent to follow a stumbling Sam Winchester enough to kill, had looks been able to do just that. But, had they, she'd have been dead days ago with the daggers Dean Winchester shot at her the moment he realized she had his brother.

xxx

"Get out."

Penelope didn't even notice the car skid to halt as she gave one of those blank, too into your own thoughts stares out the passenger window of the black car she'd stolen just before cutting the power to the jail where they'd taken Sam's brother. It had been hours before they had believed she was _kidnapped _by one Dean Winchester on his insane plot to rescue his brother. Hours that Sam didn't have. But now, as she blinked to brush away the cobwebs of her own thoughts to turn and look at a very irate Winchester, she furrowed her brows in confusion at his command.

"I already have enough to worry about with getting Sam out of there in one piece; I don't want to be worrying about keeping you safe too."

With an exhaled breath that blew a lock of red from her brow, she stared at the man that Sam had asked for in his sleep. He was giving her the nastiest look, one full of hatred, but something else … worry. Underneath that showmanship of that fuck you attitude, Penny could see that Dean Winchester would do anything to save his brother. And it was in that moment that it became all too clear why it was Dean's name that Sam had mumbled.

"You won't make it through there without me, not in time."

Hard eyes met hers, assessing in that moment, the thoughts running through his head so clear before he pulled out the gun, nearly making her flinch.

"Fine. But if you get in the way of me and Sam, I'll shoot you where you stand."

xxx

The more Sam tried to concentrate, the more the room spun with the effort. Whatever they had given him had done the trick of making his mind scrambled and his limbs totally betray any command his shattered thoughts tried giving.

He ended up in what was probably an exercise yard, and the first thing he did when he was pushed out was look up toward the sky, the stars as the first drop of rain hit his face and inhale a deep breath. A rough shove got him moving again, though he stumbled and damn near fell into the girl he puked on.

Hands that had once been nearly erotic were rough and forceful as they pushed and pulled him toward what had probably been an exam table … complete with restraints.

"Nuuu…"

His legs were coltish and fumbled in his attempt at escape, the movement that would have put him into a dead sprint only had him nearly falling as the drugs made him theirs to control; though even doped Sam was pretty sure that was their plan all along.

"Oh no Sam, we have a date … remember?"

He tried to push away, but twelve pairs of hands were pushing him down (and God was that puke he smelled?) so despite his own best efforts (pretty shitty given the circumstances!) he ended up on his back on that fucking table. That didn't necessarily mean Sam made it easy for the bitches, because he was all flailing arms and legs as he tried rolling out of his current predicament, even if that meant he'd end up on the floor face down. It was a far better cry than strapped to a fucking table!

"Hold him down!"

"I'm trying, fucking bastard is strong!"

"I thought the drugs were supposed to stop this?"

"I didn't want to have to _carry _him here!"

A hand pressed against his face, pushing it to the side and against the table as a strangled yell came from his own mouth; the restraints he had been fighting so hard not to be put into clicking into place one at a time.

It wasn't those clicks that stopped his struggles (though he was well aware of his losing battle) it was the song of metal as it was unsheathed, and the lead witch leaned over him, her face fuzzy and hard to focus on.

"Now, Sam, it's time to meet your maker…"

The blade came down in a slow arc, not for a fatal blow, but to trail down the center of Sam's shirt, slicing it free of flesh. The gunshot that pierced the air turned twelve heads as the most beautiful voice Sam had ever rose above the silence.

"Not while I'm around … bitch."

xxx

Dean Winchester stood, smoking gun in hand where he'd shot the blade out the witches hand, leaving her to stare at him in shock. And while his gaze was on the lead witch, his focus was on his little brother.

"Sammy …?"

Sam's muffled "De…." Was enough to ensure him that, while not great, Sam was breathing, and in the Winchester book of secrets, sometimes that was enough.

"You can't kill all of us."

"No…" And hazels leveled on the lead witch, the bitch that taunted him by the lake with his brother's capture, the muzzle of the gun aimed right for her head. "But I can certainly take you with me."

The candles they had lit flickered, a wind drifting through a place that should have been stagnant in air save for the large droplets of water that did little to ease the heat. Anna smirked, her gaze filled with mirth as she looked back toward Dean, the amusement on her face clearly saying she had won.

Dean, however, smirked right back as Penny's voice piped up behind him.

"Dómine sancte, Pater omnípotens, ætérne Deus, Pater Dómini nostri Jesu Christi, qui illum réfugam tyránnum et apóstatam gehénnae ígnibus deputásti, quique Unigénitum tuum in hunc mundum misísti, ut illum rugiéntem contéret: velóciter atténdem accélera, ut erípias hóminem ad imáginem et similitúdinem tuam creátum, a ruína et dæmónio meridiáno."

The candles flickered, the current of air picking up until the flames were doused both by wind and rain. A screech came, one of pain, of anger, and Anna turned to try and find the source. A ripple of electricity flew through the area, sending five witches against the walls. One skidded across the floor to slam into the doorway, the jerk of her body upon impact left little doubt that she'd not survived the blow.

"Da, Dómine, terrórem tuum super béstiam, quæ extérminat vineam tuam. Da fidúciam servis tuis contra nequíssimum dracónem pugnáre fortíssime, ne contémnat sperántes in te, et ne dicat, sicut in Pharaóne, qui jam dixit: Deum non novi, nec Israël dimítto."

The windows rattled, what was able to behind the bars that held prisoners caged, and Dean rushed into the electrical storm that was one pissed off demon, to unbind his brother so they could get the hell out of dodge.

Anna spun to watch another one of her cohorts fly into a barred window, her head all but exploding on impact. Another screamed though Dean was too busy pulling Sam off of the table to give a rat's ass if the bitch was okay or not.

In Dean's mind, they'd brought this all on themselves.

"You're not going anywhere!"

With most of Sam's weight leaning on him, holding him up when Anna stepped in their path wasn't the easiest of tasks, but Dean held on tight as a mostly incoherent Sam leaned into him.

"I'm taking my brother, and we're leaving…"

His words were slow, calculated, and left little doubt that Dean Winchester would have shot her where she stood had she gotten in his way of getting Sam to safety. As it were, Dean didn't have to do anything, the demon she'd put all of her faith into materialized in a cloud of black smoke for just an instant before engulfing her in inky blackness then dissipating with a shriek that was hard to tell if it was the demon … or Anna.

Dean didn't look back.

xxx

The beating drum in his head was more than a little annoying, and if you asked Sam, it was downright rude. But despite the audacity of that continual thump's disrespect, Sam had no choice but to face waking. It wasn't the easiest task. Sam, being born in a long line of stubborn Winchester's, fought this task with everything he had. But, unlucky for him, it wasn't much considering he felt like a Bigfoot had used him as the ball in a game of human jacks. So despite Sam's most stubborn efforts to stay oblivious … he cracked an eye open with a groan.

No sooner had the sound left his lips than something small was being pressed into his hands.

"Take these…"

And then something smooth and cool into the other.

Sam tried leaning up to drink the water, but moving proved quite a task, what with the really bad rock band rehearsing something loud and obnoxious (Dean would have loved it!) inside his head. But the hand at the back of his head leant support.

Dean always did know when he needed him, even if it was just something as small as helping him take some Tylenol.

"Where…"

Sam finally managed to croak after he swallowed the pills down, but instead of falling back onto the pillow, he tried pushing up to manage some semblance of life.

"About two hours from that coven of bitches. About as far as I dared go…"

"How…?"

Dean seemed to speak fluent hurt Sammy, and chuckled.

"Seems one of the witches had the hots for you, Sammy boy…"

"Wha…?"

"Oh don't play dumb with me! While I was searching the entire county, you were busy being playboy."

"Dean! I was chained to a wall!"

"I don't want to hear about your kinky fantasies, Sam!"

Sam huffed, though it was meek in comparison to some of his usual little brother poutiness, and his eye roll only caused more pain.

"God Dean, I almost got sacrificed to a demon and all you can do is be a jerk…"

Dean didn't hesitate, just smirked that Winchester trademark grin.

"That's only because you're such a bitch, Sammy…"

And in that Sam grinned … no matter the streak of bad luck the Winchester's had since he was six months old, one thing was for certain … Dean would always come for him.

xxx


End file.
